


III. A line upon my palm I just can’t erase

by Ischa



Series: Untitled Harry/Pansy/Draco [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animagus, F/M, M/M, Multi, Sexual Content, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-02
Updated: 2011-08-02
Packaged: 2017-10-22 03:44:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/233380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ischa/pseuds/Ischa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry tries to find his place with Pansy and Draco.</p><p><i>Marking skin is something that comes naturally to all three of them. With tongues and lips and fingers. Marks which will fade with time, never leaving something that will last. Maybe, Harry thinks, they have enough of that or maybe they are just too afraid to think about the future.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	III. A line upon my palm I just can’t erase

**Title:** III. A line upon my palm I just can’t erase  
 **Pairing:** Harry/Draco/Pansy  
 **Rating:** R  
 **Summary:** Harry tries to find his place with Pansy and Draco.  
 **Warning(s):** mentiones of sex, angst  
 **Author’s Notes:** This whole thing is about scars and maybe love...  
 **Word Count:** 736  
 **Beta:** endure  
 **Disclaimer:** Don’t know, don’t own, not real.

\--+--  
He can touch but he can’t _touch_ and it shouldn’t be a problem but it is. Maybe, because he is who he is and a ‘no’ just isn’t an option. Never really was.  
Draco is making breakfast only in his pyjama pants again and he can hear Pansy sing in the shower. He knows that Draco knows he’s staring again. He doesn’t say anything anymore, because Harry is always starring.  
It isn’t easier because he is fucking Draco now as well. It isn’t easier, because he isn’t dating…they aren’t dating – they just live together on the weekends.  
Always on the weekends.  
A secret shell.

~+~  
Sometimes he can admit to himself – only to himself – that he’s envious. Because there is THIS SOMETHING he just isn’t part of, he just can’t touch.  
It’s in the way Pansy puts her head on his knees, in the way he pets her hair absently when he’s reading, in the way they communicate with just one look and collapse laughing onto the couch or floor. In the way he lets her steal his favourite mug and his coffee – even if he bitches half heartily about it on some mornings.  
And she knows about the scars, he does about hers too.  
For she has scars on her own. Hidden under Glamours, under robes, under witty remarks and cruel smiles.  
Draco’s aren’t hidden under Glamours, just under layers of cloth – he isn’t hiding them in the flat though, Harry knows where some of them come from. The long, white one from his collarbone to his hip – that is of course Harry’s doing. He will never forget that one, that day.  
Harry wasn’t thinking much about other people’s scars before, being who he is, with scars on his own. The one on his forehead, no one but Draco touches, he tried to hide all his life.  
The ones on his hand – fading into blurred lines – Pansy likes to kiss, trace with her tongue. Kiss them better. It isn’t an apology.  
He needs weeks to realize that they all are obsessed with scars, trying to hide some (even Draco), wearing others like an armour, to hurt, to keep people away. Telling stories and lies about how they got them. Or not telling anything at all.  
They all are bitter, hating some part of themselves, hating other people for giving them in the first place. To mark a part of their bodies that never was theirs to mark in the first place.

~+~  
He is musing about all this night and day even now in the kitchen while Draco makes breakfast.

“Are you staring again?”

“Does it bother you?” he is staring, he just can’t help himself. Maybe, never could.

“Will you stop if I ask you to?”

“Maybe.”

“Liar.” Draco answers. Harry is pretty sure he’s smiling and when did he become to be able to tell something like that?

“Draco…” he begins and Draco turns around – he doesn’t smile, his grip on the plate (full of toast – perfectly made toast) is too hard. He might break the plate.

“Yes?”

“Aren’t we all?” He asks and thinks: Coward.

~+~  
Marking skin is something that comes naturally to all three of them. With tongues and lips and fingers. Marks which will fade with time, never leaving something that will last. Maybe, Harry thinks, they have enough of that or maybe they are just too afraid to think about the future.  
The thought that he might be just left alone again is something he doesn’t entertain too often, but it’s there. In the back of his skull – like something rotten in a cellar, you just can’t forget about. Never mind how hard you try. The jealousy comes back then, because they have each other and he has…

~+~  
He’s staring again.

“Is it because we know where yours are from?” Draco asks, his voice muffled by the pillow.

“Maybe,” he’s trailing a finger down Draco’s back, replacing it after a while with his tongue, his lips and Draco sighs. Somewhere between pleased and annoyed.

“We can’t tell, but we can do something else.” Pansy says.

“What?” he asks as he looks up.

“That.” She answers and carves an ‘H’ into her skin with her wand. And then Draco does the same.

Living with Draco and Pansy isn’t easy but it’s natural. They grow together like scar tissue and skin. Not perfectly, seamlessly but visibly and inseparable.

~end~


End file.
